With No Trace of Fear
by greenschist
Summary: A collection of Seamus/Dean drabbles written for the "5 Drabbles Competition" at HPFC. Now complete. It's always going to be there, all the pain and horror of that terrible year. They just choose to move forward, together. They choose not to dwell on fear.
1. Dinner With the Parents

Written for alyssialui's 5 Drabbles Competition at HPFC. My pairing is Seamus/Dean, and the prompt is "dinner with the parents."

Disclaimer: They're JKR's, not mine. So sad.

* * *

"Laying it on a bit thick, weren't you?" Seamus muttered as he searched for a place to put Dean's flowers on his mother's crowded table. He settled for a position halfway between his usual seat and his father's, not caring that it would block the view. Maybe that would even be for the best.

"What?" Dean frowned. "I always bring a something for the hostess. It's good manners."

Seamus snorted. "'Oh, Mrs. Finnigan!'" he mimicked breathlessly. "'How lovely you look! Thank you for inviting me! Accept these flowers as a token of my appreciation!'"

Dean grinned. "I wasn't that bad."

"Nearly." Seamus bit his lip. "Is a bouquet the standard gift for a "Surprise! Your son is gay!' dinner?"

"Well, I thought about bringing her some gay porn, but Christmas _is_ right around the corner, so I'm saving that."

Seamus stared with his mouth agape, just picturing his mother's reaction, before letting out a short bark of laughter. Dean came close enough to reach out and cup his cheek.

"You weren't this nervous when we told _my_ parents," he said, stroking the Irishman's cheekbone with his thumb.

"That's because your parents aren't mad like mine." He shuffled closer until he could rest his head on Dean's shoulder.

"You only say that because they were on their best behavior."

Seamus just grunted and put his arms around the taller man. It comforted him to feel Dean's arms close around him in return, to smell the Muggle-brand aftershave he favored and feel his warmth. "I'm nervous, but I'm glad we're telling them."

He tipped his head back until he could smile into his lover's dark eyes. "That's what we promised each other, yeah? 'No more secrets …'"

"'…and no more closets.'" Dean kissed him softly.

When Seamus's mother entered the dining room, calling over her shoulder for his father to join them, he and Dean were already in their places. She smiled when Dean rushed to pull her chair out and passed Seamus the uncorked wine before taking her seat.

"Pour for us all, dear." She glanced back at the door where Mr. Finnigan had yet to appear. "Oh, and boys? If you've been planning to tell us you're gay anytime soon, why not go ahead and do it tonight? "She smiled again at their gobsmacked expressions. "Your father and I have a bet going, you see. Make it tonight, and I win."

She twisted in her chair to call her husband again, and Seamus met Dean's wide eyes. _See?_ he mouthed. _Completely mad._


	2. Sleepover

Prompt: **sleepover**

WC: 390

* * *

"It's jus' like when we were back in school," Ron slurred and struggled to put one foot in front of the other.

"If you mean you've been stupid and now Granger's mad at you, I agree. It's like we never left Gryffindor Tower." Seamus tightened his grip when Ron threatened to fall backwards down the stairs. " _Walk_ , Weasley!"

The redhead planted both feet on a step and blinked owlishly. "No, I mean s'like…in the dorms or something. A sleepover. Just us blokes."

"Yeah, yeah. Won't that be fun? Let's get into the flat so we can braid each other's hair." He heard Dean and Harry, who wasn't in quite as bad shape as Ron, but thoroughly sloshed just the same, chortle behind them.

"Hair." Ron waivered and then doggedly climbed the last few stairs to the landing. "Hermione has hair."

"You don't say." Seamus propped his burden against the wall, while Dean unlocked the door. With a not-so-gentle nudge, Seamus urged Ron passed him into the living room, muttering, "Where will we put them?"

"One can take the sofa," Dean replied, "I have a sleeping bag that will do for the other." As they watched, Ron slowly lay facedown on the floor. "Or we can just leave that idiot there." He clapped Harry, glassy-eyed and weaving slightly, on the shoulder. "Looks like you get the couch, mate. It's your lucky night."

Harry wobbled, and Seamus and Dean each caught him by an elbow and urged him to the sofa. "Thanks for this. Ron-" he burped and waved sloppily in his friend's direction "—has had a bit too much."

"No problem," Dean soothed, urging Harry to lie back while Seamus yanked the trainers off his feet. "We love a good sleepover."

Harry nodded in drunken agreement. "Where're you gonna sleep, Seamus?"

Seamus and Dean looked at each other. "With Dean," Seamus replied. "In our bed."

"Ah." They watched as Harry's brow slowly furrowed. "Together? I mean—" he hesitated. " _Together_ together?"

Dean laughed quietly and reached down to tuck a cushion under Harry's head. "Every night."

"Okay." Harry fumbled with his glasses, and Seamus took them from him. "I wondered. I'm happy. For you, I mean." He yawned and closed his eyes. "Love's a good thing, right?"

Seamus smiled up at Dean. "Oh, yeah. It's a very good thing."


	3. Ivory

_5 Drabbles Competition: Ivory_

 _Prompt Relay Challenge, Section 10: White_

 _wc: 164_

* * *

Dean doesn't spend much time thinking about Seamus's skin color, but sometimes at night, when the moon pours through their window and bathes him in ivory and silver, he can't help but marvel how pale he is.

Seamus doesn't wake when Dean carefully pulls the sheet away and tosses it toward the foot of the bed. His skin glows by moonlight, particularly his most vulnerable places: the thinness of his eyelids, the white-so-white flesh below his waist, hidden always from the sun, and the tender bend of his inner arm.

His right arm is thrown up by his head, fingers curled in sleep. There are scars there, left by the Carrows, and fragile blue veins just under the skin; Dean has traced both with his fingers and tongue, but he can't see them by moonlight. Instead, Seamus is smooth, featureless, like a carving from ivory or bone, and Dean rests his fingers where he knows the veins run just to feel his heart beat.


	4. Paintings

_5 Drabbles Competition: Paintings_

 _Prompt Relay Challenge, Section 10: Pink_

 _wc: 398 (before a/n)_

* * *

When Dean suggested they attend a _Celebrating the Male Nude_ exhibit at a Muggle gallery in Fitzrovia, Seamus had envisioned an evening spent listening to Dean's husky voice critiquing titillating images. In reality, Dean had been swallowed up by art snobs not long after their arrival, and Seamus found most of the paintings more silly than sexy.

Most of the men were weirdly free of all body hair and that struck him as a strange way to celebrate masculinity. And as for the paintings of men doing "everyday tasks" in the nude…well, Seamus had never seen a real shepherd naked with his flock. It seemed like you were just asking for mosquito bites on your todger.

He paused in front of a large painting of a man on his knees, back arched so his pelvis thrust forward. Oi, he thought, his eyes helplessly drawn to that pelvis. What a monster.

"Magnificent, no?"

Seamus eyed the sweaty Muggle who had appeared at his elbow, gazing at the painting with a rapt, lustful expression.

"I mean," the stranger had dark pink lips that he licked too often, "the struggle inherent in that perfect form is a true testament to manhood."

Seamus examined the painting again. He didn't look like any specimen of manhood Seamus had ever met. His abs were so sculpted, it looked like he had swallowed eight tangerines. "What's he struggling against? The rising cost of gym memberships?"

The Muggle lost his enraptured expression and gave him a dirty look. "Feminism, _obviously_ ," he sneered before walking away.

Baffled, Seamus watched him leave, not even noticing Dean's arrival until he dropped a kiss on his temple.

Dean glanced at the painting. "Wow," he said, his eyebrows raised. "Look at the size of that thing. Think he's on his knees because he lost his balance?"

"He's struggling against feminism, _naturally_."

Dean laughed. "That explains the pinkish background."

He wrapped his arms around Dean. "Ready to go?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah." Dean steered him toward the coat check. "You know, I don't like any of these nudes as much as the sketches I've done of you. I should turn one of them into a painting. Turn it into my own 'celebration of the male nude.'"

Seamus could feel himself blush. "Fine by me, but don't even think of hanging me over the mantle unless you cover me with a fig leaf."


	5. Neutron Star Collision

_5 Drabbles Competition: Neutron Star Collision, by Muse_

 _Prompt Relay Challenge, Section 10: crimson_

 _wc: 203_

* * *

Considering how war shaped their childhoods, they don't talk about it much. Dean has wept over every scar the Carrows left on his body, and Seamus holds him and cries when he jerks awake at night screaming, _"TED!"_ It's there, and it's always going to be there, all the memories, all the pain and horror of that terrible year. They just choose to move forward, together. They choose not to dwell on fear.

He knows fear is a maw edged in crimson that threatens to swallow all your joy.

Seamus won't let that happen to Dean, and he knows Dean won't let that happen to him.

So they smile and laugh and go out with their friends. They kiss as often as they can. They hold hands in front of the mean old man from downstairs. They cling tight to each other when memories of the war try to intrude on their peace. They promise to spend forever together with no trace of fear or doubt.

Life is good, he decides, as he rolls over and puts his arm around Dean. He listens to his love's quiet snores and watches the progression of moonlight on the wall until he falls back to sleep.


End file.
